Hall of Secrets (A Benedict Hall Novel) by Cate Campbell Read Free Book Online Page A

the masters of the air. “We’re already carrying mail, a commercial enterprise. Building seaplanes, touring airplanes, the MB-3A pursuit fighters—there’s no limit. We’re going to build lighter airplanes, carry a heavier payload.”
    “Douglas got ahead of you with the Cloudster.”
    Frank chuckled. “That got under Mr. Boeing’s skin, I can promise you.”
    “But now the war’s over. I wonder if there’s enough demand to keep all of you in business—Boeing and Douglas and Curtiss, too.”
    “Mr. Boeing’s looking ahead, Captain. He’s got all his engineers working on the next step.”
    “So he sent you here. He doesn’t mind that Curtiss built the Jenny?”
    “Not at all. He figured a good close look will help us understand why the Jenny is so efficient and so stable. Is it the ailerons, you think?”
    “Maybe. The Jenny’s slow, which is why the barnstormers like it. It won’t ever work as anything but a trainer.”
    “We’ve heard the Canuck has a lighter interior. We’re interested in that.”
    “Happy to help however we can.” Carruthers emptied his coffee cup. “I’ll give you a tour of the place, so you can look around on your own.”
    “Thanks.”
    “Maybe, if you feel like it, you’d like to go up for a spin?”
    Frank set down his coffee cup with a decisive click. “Oh, yes, Captain,” he said fervently. “There’s nothing I’d like better. If the United States Army would allow an ex–British Army man in one of their airplanes, I would very much like to go up.”

C HAPTER 4
    Allison had forgotten the magnificence of Benedict Hall. Four white-painted stories were surrounded by a wide porch. There was both a large and a small parlor, a long dining room, and so many bedrooms she hadn’t been able to count them yet. Her parents’ house in San Francisco was tall and narrow, but Benedict Hall was tall and broad, sprawling among gardens that must be beautiful in the spring and summer. There was an old coach house in back, now converted into a garage, where the Essex motorcar rested in shining black splendor.
    Cousin Margot, oddly enough, lived above the garage in a small apartment. Allison didn’t know why that should be, when there was an enormous bedroom with attached bath right at the front of the house, a room everyone referred to as Miss Margot’s.
    Allison pictured Cousin Margot scowling, sour with disappointment over not marrying her major. She probably went around most of the time in heavy shoes like Ruby’s, dark stockings, even spectacles. She probably wore a stethoscope around her neck and had a thermometer sticking out of her pocket. Maybe what happened at Allison’s party had ruined everything, and now she was a bitter old maid ready to take her misery out on Allison.
    Allison felt like a stranger here, even though they all bore the same name. She knew about the family mostly from letters and conversations with her parents. Papa said Uncle Dickson’s business had thrived in Seattle, even after the war and the general strike that had brought down so many others. He always said, with gruff admiration, “That Dickson can see five years into the future! Hell of an advantage.” Dick, the oldest son, worked in the business with his father, and his wife, Ramona, was a conventional sort, fair and pretty, not much at conversation but wearing very good clothes.
    The Benedicts’ cook, Hattie, was a Negro. Adelaide, after their last visit, had declared on the train back to San Francisco that she didn’t know what Edith was thinking, hiring a colored cook. Papa had made some remark about Hattie being with the family a long time, and Adelaide had retorted that with all their money, Dickson and Edith could do better. She said it was all well and good to have colored help in the laundry or to clean, but she wouldn’t have it in her kitchen. Allison had stopped paying attention then, because her mother never went in the kitchen that she could see, so she didn’t think her